The Hogwarts Express, bearing the number "5972" on its engine, raced along the tracks, speeding from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station toward Hogsmeade Station near Hogwarts.
High above the old-fashioned steam train, a carriage drawn by Thestrals glided through the air, following closely behind.
"Looks like we're not too late," Professor Fig said, glancing down at the speeding train beneath their carriage wheels and wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Of course we're not. All thanks to my Ancient Magic tunnel," Ethan replied smugly from the opposite seat, placing his hands confidently on his hips.
"Don't even mention that blasted tunnel of yours," Professor Fig retorted sourly.
Indeed, the other end of Ethan's magical portal had led them to Diagon Alley—specifically, straight into the back room of Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions.
Unfortunately, Madam Primpernelle had been mid-treatment with a witch when two grown men suddenly appeared out of nowhere, startling her so badly that her wand slipped and punctured a giant pimple on the poor witch's nose, spraying both Ethan and Professor Fig's faces with a rather revolting stream of pus.
Madam Primpernelle had quite a fiery temper. After apologizing profusely to her furious customer, she immediately grabbed a broom and chased Ethan and Fig out of her shop without another word.
"Get out! You've ruined my reputation! Don't ever let me see you two again!"
Professor Fig could only thank Merlin that it had been late enough in the evening that Diagon Alley was nearly deserted. Had more people seen them, his teaching career at Hogwarts would surely have been over.
But being sprayed in the face with pus wasn't even the most infuriating part, nor was being chased out of the shop and permanently banned by Madam Primpernelle the most humiliating.
No, the real kicker was that when Professor Fig tried to lecture Ethan about caution and consequences, Ethan boldly countered:
"Well, Professor, you have to admit—it was still Diagon Alley, wasn't it?"
Professor Fig.exe has stopped working.
Professor Fig silently pressed a hand to his forehead, overcome by a profound sense of helpless despair.
The closer Ethan got to him, the more the boy's carefully hidden, reckless nature surfaced. Actually, it wasn't even surfacing anymore—Ethan had simply stopped pretending altogether.
He embodied that classic duality of "a polite gentleman in front of strangers, an absolute menace among friends."
"I say, Ethan," Professor Fig finally spoke up, a note of tragic resignation in his voice. "Is there any chance you could revert to your original settings? Even rolling back your data would be fine."
"Oh, Professor, how could you say such a thing?" Ethan replied, feigning bashfulness and waving his hand dismissively. "This is the precious bond we've finally formed! How could you so casually toss it aside?"
"You—ugh…"
Professor Fig wore an expression that clearly read, "I must have been mad to believe in you," and turned away to gaze out the window, abandoning all further contemplation.
Such a promising young man—why did he have to have such a mouth?
"Um, Professor, the train is getting further away. Are we really going to catch up?" Ethan pointed toward the Hogwarts Express, now pulling away into the distance.
"Don't worry. The train has to take a winding route through the mountains. We can simply fly straight over the peaks."
Professor Fig forced himself to rally, tapping on the carriage ceiling. The driver at the front received his signal and snapped the reins sharply, sending the Thestrals and carriage soaring upward, flying swiftly toward the Scottish Highlands.
——
Night slowly spread across the Scottish Highlands, a crescent moon and scattered stars decorating the dark purple sky above Hogwarts castle.
A carriage streaked like a shooting star through the night sky, gradually descending toward Hogsmeade village.
"Hey, Professor, we overshot it—Hogwarts is right beneath us," Ethan pointed out quickly.
"There are magical barriers around Hogwarts castle," Professor Fig explained patiently. "Flying vehicles like ours can't enter directly, and neither can Apparition. We'll land at Hogsmeade village first—it's not far to walk from there."
"Then why not land at the train station? Isn't that even closer? Look, the train's already stopped."
"Do you really think there's any space left there for us to land?"
Indeed, the Hogwarts Express had arrived at Hogsmeade Station, and students were swarming out in droves, filling the platform completely. It was a chaotic sea of fluttering robes, noisy chatter, and bustling excitement.
"Forget I said anything," Ethan muttered, shrinking slightly in embarrassment.
"All right, while we have a moment, let me tell you about the Sorting Ceremony. Hogwarts has four houses—brave Gryffindor, loyal Hufflepuff, wise Ravenclaw, and… elegant (allegedly) Slytherin."
["More like reckless idiots, naïve sweethearts, bookish nerds, and shady schemers," Ethan silently snarked to himself.]
"…The Sorting Ceremony determines which house you'll join, based on your character and qualities. But don't worry—each house attends the same classes."
"During your time at Hogwarts, your house is like your family. You'll attend classes together, live together in your house dormitory, and spend leisure time together in the house common room."
"Throughout your studies, your good behavior and achievements earn your house points, while rule-breaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the highest points is awarded the House Cup—it's a significant honor. I hope you'll strive to bring glory to whichever house you join."
Professor Fig rambled on enthusiastically about Hogwarts all the way until their carriage landed just outside Hogsmeade village.
"All right, put your robes on quickly and let's go. I'll have someone deliver your luggage directly to the school."
Ethan swiftly donned his wizard robes in the darkness, hurrying to catch up with Professor Fig. The robes felt strangely smooth and comfortable, and although the hem brushed the ground, it didn't pick up a speck of dust.
Don't ask; the answer is always magic.
"Over there is the Forbidden Forest—extremely dangerous, never go inside," Professor Fig explained, not forgetting to point out landmarks along the way.
"That large stadium is the Quidditch pitch—I'll explain Quidditch properly to you another time. It's quite a fun sport."
Professor Fig led Ethan through the main gates at a brisk pace, across the courtyard and the viaduct bridge, finally stopping just outside the Great Hall.
"Ah, good, it sounds like the Sorting Ceremony is already underway," Professor Fig whispered breathlessly, pressing his ear against the heavy wooden doors to listen.
"I'll need to find an opportunity to study that box further—there must be more clues hidden within. Who knows what else it might be connected to..." Professor Fig turned to Ethan, his expression serious. "In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you kept today's events strictly to yourself."
"I understand, Professor," Ethan replied, dropping his usual joking demeanor and answering sincerely.
"Thank you. Are you ready for the Sorting Ceremony?" Professor Fig rubbed his hands together, then opened the Great Hall door just a crack, poking his head inside.
Standing by the doorway, Ethan could clearly hear an elderly woman's voice calling out names. Shortly afterward, a rough, raspy voice would shout out a house name, followed by thunderous applause.
[I wonder which house the Sorting Hat will place me in? Wait, if I remember correctly, the hat lets you choose your own house. So which one should I pick?] Ethan was lost in thought when he suddenly heard a familiar name called out:
"Harry Potter!"
Harry Potter. The famous four-eyed, scar-headed wonder, master of the Expelliarmus charm who had single-handedly dominated the wizarding world's headlines.
Captain of Gryffindor's infamous "point-deducting squad," famous for steadily driving house points to rock bottom throughout the year, only to dramatically earn them all back at the last minute and snatch the House Cup from under everyone else's noses.
Not to mention, mortal enemy of a certain noseless, bald Dark wizard, famously reflecting the Killing Curse back at him no less than three separate times.
Ethan instantly perked up at hearing that name. He was just about to lean forward for a better look inside when Professor Fig suddenly yanked him into the hall.
The Great Hall was magnificent, with four long tables lined up side-by-side, filled with students dressed in robes. Thousands of candles floated gently in midair above the tables, illuminating the room. Gleaming golden plates and goblets glittered along the tables. The ceiling sparkled with stars, enchanted by the school's professors to reflect the sky outside.
Who could it be?
At the front of the hall stood another long table for the faculty. Directly in front of the professors' table was a four-legged stool, currently occupied by a nervous-looking boy wearing a tall, pointed hat.
Just as the hat shouted "Gryffindor!", three of the four tables erupted into cheers and applause. The blushing boy stood up and hurried over to join one of them.
"Professor McGonagall, could you please sort this student as well?" Professor Fig called out, guiding Ethan up through the tables toward an older witch holding the Sorting Hat and a roll of parchment.
"Ah, Mr. Ethan, isn't it?" Professor McGonagall glanced at her parchment. "You're just in time. It's your turn now, please sit."
Ethan sat down on the stool, acutely aware of the countless eyes and murmuring voices directed toward him from all around the hall. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, raising the Sorting Hat and placing it firmly onto Ethan's head.